Court, Baseball, Donna Paulsen
by graystephen93
Summary: Harvey wants to apologise for his recent behaviour with Donna, so he asks her out to dinner. But will they make it to dessert before yet another fight breaks out?


**Hi guys! It's been awhile, but I wanted to post this before the next ep airs tonight. Hope you enjoy. And as always, would love to hear your thoughts. x**

* * *

 _Court, Baseball, Donna Paulsen_

* * *

It's Friday, late evening. Donna and Harvey relax in his office, catching up after a week that's had them feeling more distant than ever.

"And what did you say?" she chuckles in anticipation of his response.

Harvey watches her contently, sat adjacent to him on his left. His cocky smirk widens now that he has her laughing. He lowers his brows and nodding as he speaks, as if he's about to state the most obvious thing in the world.

"Cats, Ballet, Harvey Specter."

"Oh my god..." She rolls her eyes. "You are unbelievable sometimes, you know that?"

"Are you saying it's not true?"

His head cocks with a smugness as he witnesses her falling short of an answer. Her lower lip hanging mutely agape, desperately trying to think of something else that her beloved friend holds dear before she remembers the obvious and sharply meets his eye once more.

"Mudding," she nods, darting her left brow at him next. "And Sheila of course..."

Neither of them feel like bringing up his sister for reasons they dare not delve into, nor dwell on. Because it should be no big deal to mention her name. And yet, neither of them speak it.

"Took you long enough."

"Fine," she says dryly, lowering her chin at him. "Your list is pretty solid. But it's still not entirely fair."

Harvey bites his bottom lip, smiling back and then glancing down. She knows that he agrees. When he looks back up, he catches her in deep thought.

"What is it?" he murmurs inquisitively.

"Nothing," Donna sighs, her hazel eyes cautiously wandering back to his own curious pair, right elbow on the arm rest, left digits now fidgeting with right, before she inhales and teases him with a wryly alluring smile. "I'm just tryna come up with _your_ list."

"Donna," he glares with a smirk, lowering his tone and puffing his chest as he sits back, oozing with his signature confidence. "I'm too complex of a man to be narrowed down to three-"

"Court… baseball…" She cuts him off without a second thought as she hums out her list.

 _Donna Paulsen,_ he automatically finishes, inwardly nonetheless. Half afraid she might say it aloud. Even though she would only be joking anyway. Because she doesn't want more. _She didn't feel anything._

 _So why is he still flirting with the idea of them?_ Sharing drinks when they should be gone home by now. Smiling at her with a reverie of romance in his eye. Testing her resolve with mentions of strawberries and whipped cream. Subtly not-so-subtly letting her know what he uses those archived images of their younger selves to achieve.

He observes her intensely as she trails off in search of the third item on his list.

"Harvey Specter," she finally finishes, all too pleased with herself, eyes wide and lips pursed together in an effort to suppress the most inevitable grin he's ever seen coming.

He halfheartedly rolls his eyes, inwardly chuckling at her rapier-like wit, "Comedienne."

"I missed my true calling."

"Never too late."

"Please. If I resigned again, you'd just be knocking on my door two seconds later-"

His unamused head tilt shuts her up before she can continue.

"Too soon?" she chances, lightly tugging her bottom lip as she eyes him with an ever-growing guilt, fingers fidgeting with one another.

"I preferred your earlier joke," he grumbles lightly, trying his best not to sound as dejected as he was actually becoming.

His newly somber tone soon summons a lump in her throat that she swallows down just as quick, "I'm sorry. That was insensitive about..." _Your breakup._

She didn't have to finish her sentence for him to know exactly where she was going with it. Unlike all the half-assed conversations they've shared in regards to their feelings for one another. With those, they could never quite fill in the gaps themselves. Immersed and stranded in a fog of doubt any time they dared approach those shores. Its waves controlled by the ever unpredictable weather of their relationship **.** Some days calm and breezy. Others choppy, more turbulent. The odd one or two forecasting life-threatening storms.

"No, that's not it. Trust me, I'm over that," Harvey insists, his mind not having even went there until she nervously steered it in that direction.

"Then what is it?" she pries with empathy, and an unease about her, concerned about his declining mood.

He sighs. The night would take a turn once he answers. He wants to keep things light between them, having spent more than their fair share in the dark lately. But he also can't help be drawn to those doe-eyes of hers, demanding he divulge his deepest thoughts.

He looks down into his glass of scotch before resting it on the arm of his chair and turning his head towards her. "I just don't like joking about the idea of you leaving me is all."

Regret and remorse take the reins almost immediately. Her gut clenches up inside her, knowing how much he fears the people he loves leaving him. Abandoning him. But she often forgets - or fails to comprehend - that her doing so is what he dreads most, of anyone. She's the one loss he wouldn't be able to seek solace with. The one abandonment that would make all other unwanted departures feel like warm goodbyes.

"Everyone leaves, and as much as it kills me, I can handle it." He clenches his jaw as his nose begins to sting. With a sharp inhale, he looks at her again, "But with you..."

He knows he doesn't have to finish it this time. Even though he should. Because he can't tell her how special she is to him, enough.

His eyes slip downward as his unfinished, yet entirely familiar sentiment rings inside her head. With the fear of his next words being _I should go,_ she leans forward, warmly reaching out and tenderly resting her fingers over his wrist, fingerprints kissing his quickening pulse as her thumb grazes the sculpture over the back of his palm.

"Okay," she breathes with a weak grin. "I can't guarantee that nobody is leaving you ...anymore." They both share a knowing smirk, remembering her promise that hasn't aged very well through the years. Jessica. Mike. Even her for awhile. "But I _can_ promise you that _I'm_ not."

Something tells her that isn't her promise to make. Especially after the last time she made it, and then had no choice but to leave him. But somehow, after everything that's happened lately, not being in his life for the rest of hers seems impossible, and absurd.

"You already did," he mumbles lowly, challenging her with an endearing stare. Clearly still hurt, but no longer holding it against her. Forgiving, without forgetting.

"Hey!" Donna scolds playfully, her thumb subconsciously stroking his skin with such unintended salaciousness that if he wasn't still in his shirt, she would see his hairs stand on end. "That doesn't count. I came back."

He absorbs her features, both shame and integrity in her tone at once. She will always feel bad for leaving then. But nothing will convince her that it wasn't the right choice. For her. For them both. God knows what would have happened to them had she stayed working for him after everything, and acted like they were fine - which they ended up doing after the dust settled anyway.

"You did." As soon as she knew he needed her, she was there. The one thing that gives him some reassurance that she can't walk out as easily as everyone else seems to be able to.

"I need you just as much as you need me you know."

Her words only help assure him even more. He swallows and then inhales, bottom lip falling along with his stare, towards her rosy lips that only seem sweeter the more she speaks. And the more she looks at him with something akin to a tamed hunger.

After saying it, she realises she doesn't make it clear enough to him. Especially for a man that needs anything remotely emotional spelled out for him and neatly assorted into importance-coded files.

He feels her soft palm slip over the back of his, sending electric chills up his arm as her fingers soon tangle with his own. Before she gives a light squeeze to add more meaning to her words in case he's still not convinced. So she tells herself at least.

There's a lingering moment that's all too silent and bears far too much resemblance to a night that began with a thank you dinner, and ended with near confessions and temptations of yet another night long ago. An _other time._ Two nights they both thought to be long behind them by now.

"I better get home, it's getting late," she whispers, not yet making an attempt to leave, however. As if waiting for something that her experience with him tells her is never coming.

That intoxicating gaze puts her under a spell, totally transfixing her. Before the intensity of it wakes her moments later. She begins to slip her hand out of their grasp, standing up to leave just as he catches her fingers in his, stopping her from turning away from him. She glances down at their hands, linked once more, instinctively wanting to tighten the grip but not allowing herself to. She observantly follows his features as he rises to stand, now having an extra few inches over her.

"Hey, why don't we go out for a drink tonight?"

Her brows raise as her lip lowers, but not one note leaves her mouth. Not the reaction he was hoping for. He tries to recover nonchalantly.

"I just feel like we haven't done something like that in forever is all." His gaze softens, "And I wanna make it up to you about the other day..." Because he knows she _fucking_ earned it.

His suddenly close proximity and contact begin to overwhelm her senses. Her subconscious no longer silent. Reeling over the last few months. Over her lie. The one she told to save them from the truth. To protect herself from his admission. _He doesn't want more._ Therefore, she didn't feel anything when she kissed him. Simple. And she even started to believe it over time. Until the truth got buried so deep that she can only remember how his lips destroyed her decade worth of denial when she gets caught up staring at them, whenever he's standing too close for comfort. Too close for denial to function.

"I'll do you one better. Why don't we go for lunch tomorrow instead?"

She purposely chose a safe time, less intimate. Bending to her need to be in control of this kind of situation. They haven't done anything like this since their kiss. And even well before that. For he had someone else to keep him busy then. He didn't need her and it made her sweet transition from secretary to COO that little bit bitter. Because she was reminded of how much she has come to rely on him needing her - something that hit her like a truck when she went to work for Louis. But also, how much she needs him back. In different ways than he needs her, but for the same reason at the end of the day. Love.

"I'll see your lunch and raise you one dinner." He moves closer, not making things any easier on her.

"Are you playing poker with our dinner dates?" she asks, titillation laced in her tone.

 _Our. Dates._

Her blunder leaves her internally cringing. But he doesn't seem phased, more enticed if anything.

"Are you _all in?"_

She can't keep turning him down. Mostly out of fear that he'll pick up on her nerves. If they're just friends, this should be no big deal. So, she'll perform under the kind of spotlight that scorches her skin without leaving a burn mark for the rest of the world to see.

"Okay. Tomorrow night it is then," she agrees, forcing a casual nod.

"Where?" He wants her to decide, hoping she'll choose a certain venue.

"Where do you think..."

"That's our celebratory restaurant?" He's thrilled that she chose their somewhat habitual, and ridiculously sentimental spot, and does a mediocre job at hiding it.

"Exactly," Donna shakes her head, forehead creasing as if she's stating the obvious while she blinks up at him, ever-expanding pupils locking with his own burgeoning pools of black. "And you continuing to work on yourself in therapy...is worth celebrating."

They engage in an amorous stare, suppressing smirks into smiles that turn too sweet, too fast.

Only then does she feel his hand still lightly gripping hers. Fingers wrapped around the back of her palm. Her eyes soon shooting downward. Her lightly startled state having him clear his throat, filling the now deafening quiet with an awkward cough before he lets go, immediately missing her warmth as the office air bites his flesh, reminding him that her hand isn't his to hold. He made sure of that, in his spiteful post-kiss state.

"It's a date then. I'll make the reservation for seven." He says it overly casually, making it feel anything but.

 _Date._

She's sure he's harmlessly used the word between them in the past, but after everything that's happened, she thought she'd never hear it again. And the sound of it, aimed towards her, unsettles her. Like he's doing it on purpose. Testing boundaries. When he should have no reason to.

"I look forward to it."

"G'night, Donna," he nods, hands finding the insides of his pockets.

She stares at his lips before realising she was doing so, and adjusts her line of sight to his safer, yet even more sensual umber features. "Good night, Harvey."

 **…**

Donna's in the fileroom after lunch the following day, aimlessly rooting through a box of old case files. Her mind is completely elsewhere when she's abruptly pulled from her thoughts, making her jump too much for her liking, never a fan of being caught off guard. She's Donna. She's supposed be on top of her shit.

"You planning on moving in down here or what?" Samantha quizzes sarcastically, slowly striding towards her, scanning the room as she does so.

"Hm?" Donna glances over her shoulder as her colleague stops up beside her, the woman's words completely flying overhead.

"You said you were coming down here over an hour ago..." She leans against the nearest desk, knuckles digging into her hip as she gauges the redhead's uncharacteristically despondent expression. "Last time I checked, it didn't take that long to root up files that are alphabetically labeled."

"Oh yeah, I found 'em..." Donna sighs, smiling weakly before holding up a deep blue folder and quickly looking down again.

The blonde creases her brows and crosses her arms, examining her under a fine microscope. "Donna, is everything okay with you? You seem distracted lately."

"I'm fine Samantha, honestly. I've just got a lot on my mind is all." She puts the lid back on the box she'd taken off the shelf in an attempt to busy herself, and deflect from her feelings, to put a lid on them too. Unable to feel as though she was convincing herself, let alone the woman stood next to her. _Maybe she should stop insisting that she's not a liar._

"A problem shared..." Samantha encourages, not falling for her new friend's facade in the slightest.

"Is a problem _multiplied_."

"Now why do I have a feeling that's not what you tell the people you wanna cheer up?"

" _Because._.." Donna stalls for a second, brows as high as they can reach. "I don't have to follow my own advice."

"Come on, Donna. I thought we can trust each other now."

"We can, Samantha," she reassures, before lightly frowning. "But that doesn't mean I'm ready to divulge every last detail about my love-" The COO cuts herself off once she realises she's already said too much.

"Life?" Samantha finishes for her, grin enlarged.

Donna exhales in defeat. The cat now well and truly out of the bag - little does she know that her face had let it out well before her words.

"I had a feeling it was matters of the heart anyway."

Donna fails to summon a response.

"Whatever, it's fine, you don't have to tell me. But you can't hide down here forever either," the lawyer informs her with a hint of humour in her eye, before smiling sympathetically and turning to walk away.

 _Fuck it,_ Donna thinks, tongue teasing the inside of her cheek before she decides to test the potential of her latest friendship.

"How do you know if someone isn't being honest about their feelings," she blurts, waiting for Samantha to turn around, which she does instantly, "...for you?"

She steps closer again, intrigued and surprised at the sudden conversational turn, "I thought you were supposed to be the expert on those types of things?"

"So did I," Donna breathes, looking away. "But there's one person I can never quite figure out completely," she continues, catching the woman's eye once again. "When it comes to me."

Samantha sighs warmly, pondering for a moment. "I guess you just gotta go with what your gut is telling you. I mean, it _is_ there for a reason."

"And what if it's wrong? And I risk absolutely everything, for absolutely nothing?" Her chest feels heavy at the mere thought, upper lip almost trembling with nerves at the thought of losing him.

"It wouldn't be for nothing," Samantha asserts, confident in her answer. "At least you would know. Instead of letting it eating you alive. Because that shit's only gonna get worse, until eventually you're spending your entire day down here. Lost in ' _what if?'_ "

"That doesn't seem so bad right now..." Donna mumbles, chancing a glance at Samantha afterwards, allowing a small smile to escape.

"Well, I'll come visit," she plays along, brown eyes rotating around the room as she takes in their surroundings before she sighs with faux innocence. "But I'm sure you'll still get lonely." Her smirk widens as she catches the redhead's eye again, "Without _him_."

Samantha watches Donna's mouth part in shock, feeling amused at her reaction but trying her best not to show it.

She turns and walks away, stopping in her tracks a few steps later, twisting on the spot to face the sight she's now seeing for the first time; Donna Paulsen, well and truly at a loss for words.

So she decides to make it even worse.

"And for what it's worth... I see the way he looks at you."

Donna has no chance to respond before she's leaving again. Samantha's footsteps echoing along with her own induced epiphany. _Does he feel the same? Why does everyone seem to come to one conclusion about them?_ Asking the same types of questions. Having the same kinds of assumptions. Scottie. Rachel. Mike. Louis. Gibbs. Malik. And about a dozen insignificant assholes through the years. Everyone except the only person that she needed to hear such personal things from.

 _Him._

 **…**

"Hey, Louis, did you have time to-"

"NO," he growls dismissively, storming his way through the corridor as his new colleague tries to keep up.

"Woah, what's gotten into you?" Samantha frowns, causing him to stop up, seething with anger.

"Harvey _God Damn_ Specter's gotten into me, that's what!" He flaps his arms at each side, looking left and right, and then to her. "Right up inside me!"

She grimaces to herself at the image provided by his ever odd way of speech, "Uhhh...okay, care to explain?"

"He's all tensed up about something and he's taking it out on me. Nothing new."

"So I was right..." Samantha nods to herself.

"Right about what?"

Not wanting to over-share on what she _thinks_ she knows, she responds with the bare minimum. "Donna's not in her right mind today either."

Louis knits his dark brows, curling his top lip in wonder, "What's Donna got to do with..." His face drops once it hits him, and he's reminded of what the redhead shared with him in her office a couple of months ago, "Ohhh."

"Yep." She's not clued in about the kiss, but knows by Louis' reaction that they're both on the same page about the couple.

"I should have guessed when she snapped at me over a prunie this morning."

"Yeah, something tells me those two just need to get laid," she breathes, before giving a quick glance in either direction and inching in with a lowered chin and raised brows. "By each other."

"That's the most disgusting thing I've ever heard," Louis scowls with disapproval, before schooling his features. "But also the truest."

"I have a feeling that the firm would run a lot smoother lately if those two were just honest with themselves."

"And with each other," Louis finishes knowingly, before they part ways again.

 **…**

The redhead hears a tentative knock on her door that quickly sends a stream of trepidation coursing through her system. This hasn't felt like one of their normal dinner dates since they planned it. And something tells her the evening itself won't feel as platonic as it should either.

She looks up from her workload and catches his handsome smile as he leans in her doorway, making steps inside once she's made eye contact.

"You almost ready?"

"Is that the time?"

She doesn't sound as enthused as he would have hoped, and it throws his confidence in a way she would never pick up on because she doesn't think he has reason to be as nervous as she is. This is just his way of clinging to the past and having it feel like they still lived there together. Even if for only a couple of hours. _Wasn't it?_ Her talk with Samantha earlier wasn't enough to convince her that he was ready, or willing, to venture into unmapped territory with her. Even with her being the great emotional navigator that she is.

"6.30 exactly."

Donna wordlessly closes over the folder she was working on, getting her desk in order as she stands, fidgeting whilst organising herself.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," she chuckles nervously, searching for an excuse for her un-Donna like mute state. "Just starving."

"Good thing it's a dinner date then."

 _Date. Again._

"Right..." She looks away as soon as she can and steps out from behind her desk before she picks up her coat and purse.

"Here, let me." He feels awkward just standing there and closes the gap, offering to help her into her Cashmere, taking the coat from her amid her polite protest and holding it out for her to slip into.

She stares at him lovingly while he's not looking, busy helping her into the right sleeve first.

"There." He presses his lips together and returns his focus to her, her sweetened smile fading somewhat once he looks at her again.

She puts the wall she had just let down back up and toys with him, dismissing his chivalry, "Such a gent."

"When am I not?"

About a million examples come to mind, but she just answers with a pointed look instead, because she knows he's well aware of how much of a dick he can be. Something he still wants to apologise for, properly. Hating himself for even taking this long to do so in the first place. But he's still decoding their fight in his head. For they may have been shouting about business, but to him, everything about it screamed personal.

She's wearing a sleeveless black evening gown with a deep maroon undertone, almost undetectable. The skirt falling just above her knees and v-neck plunging between the valley of her breasts, showing off what he finds to be some of her best assets, her freckles - among other assets that he spends half his days trying not to drool over.

"You look really nice by the way," he nods, desperate to kill the silence engulfing her office. And also just feeling the need to compliment her. Afraid to use a better adjective, when about a dozen others were swirling around in his head.

 _Beautiful. Radiant. Exquisite. Fucking ethereal._

She raises her hands to her neck and flicks her molten locks over her coat, looking down at her dress. Hoping he wouldn't realise that he's never seen it before. Or if he does, at least not comment on it. Because friends shouldn't put that much thought into what they're going to wear to dinner together.

"Thank you," she purrs, somewhat taken aback by how much he meant it, before she takes in his own evening attire in response. "So do you. New suit?"

His confirming countenance scares her, and excites her in the most annoyingly contradictory way. With a brand new suit, she can't decipher his thoughts or predict his mood simply because of his choice of clothing. However, maybe that's what he wants, the possibility setting her mind racing even more so.

"Felt like I needed a change."

"Well, it's quickly becoming a new favourite of mine," she flirts back, unable to refrain from doing so.

"Thought you'd like it," he smiles boyishly, hand hovering over her back as he gestures them out of the room, eager to get the ball rolling on whatever the hell it was they'd agreed to.

Her pulse quickens, blood warming simultaneously. _Why was he thinking about her while buying it at all?_ The answer to that question worries and intrigues her. For she knows exactly why she was doing the same.

 **…**

"You know, if you just ordered the same as me for once, then you wouldn't have to pick at my dessert _every_ time."

"But then I wouldn't be able to get the best of both worlds, would I?" She mirrors his smirk before bringing her forkful of stolen goods to her mouth.

He watches her glaring at him with satisfaction as she swallows down his strawberry soufflé, ever amused by her.

She squirms in her chair slightly and her heel grazes his shin so minutely that both wonder if it even happened - but neither look away.

He inhales a breath and glances downward once he feels he's been staring too long. A budding tension between his legs, at the sight of her swallowing down a very certain flavour of fruit, almost preventing actual words from flowing.

He fiddles with the tablecloth, "Thanks for agreeing to this, Donna."

 _Agreeing_ to dinner with him. He's making it sound like some sort of deal.

She fails to suppress the urge to test him in that moment. Even though it doesn't seem wise. Especially seeing how well she knows him. And their history. But it's as if she's not in charge of her emotions lately. Unable to hold them back as flawlessly as usual, having both manufactured and mastered many different masks over the years.

"Why wouldn't I? We're friends…this is what friends do."

"Is it..." he mutters unexpectedly, his tone making her wonder if now she was the one being tested.

"What?"

Her frown puts him off, too afraid to start anything on a night that has gone so well for them both.

"Nothing," he quits, all too easily. "It's been fun. I needed it."

Every time he comes close to the idea of letting her in, confessing his secrets, his mind replays that blurred footage of her walking away. From him. After she told him that she loved him. How does someone say they love you, and then leave you? Would she do the same again?

"Me too."

He inhales, shaking his most recent thoughts, reminding himself what he's been working on in therapy. _Truly loving someone doesn't expose you to losing them. But not doing so does._

"And I've missed it," he breathes.

Letting a moment or two pass before she answers this time, she eyes him intensely, soon admitting the same, "Me too."

"I guess we've both been so busy with work lately..."

 _And shacking up with ex-therapists._ She hates the bitterness brewing inside. As if out of nowhere. But she knows it's been there all along. No matter how much she tries to shrink the feeling, act as if it'll go away on its own.

"COO leaves little time for downtime," she sighs.

It's as if she's baiting him. Yet he can't shy away from the subject either. Latching onto her hook, desperate to make amends, and put a certain argument to bed.

"I never asked you how you were finding the transition," he admits ashamedly. "I guess I just always assume you're handling everything perfectly."

Their most recent lobby argument hangs over their table now. A dark thundering cloud that will either clear way for sunshine with the right words, or strike lightning with the wrong ones.

"It had it's challenges. But I think I've finally found my feet," she smiles proudly. "I can't imagine ever not being in this position now."

"And neither can I," he nods, face straight, letting her know he meant every last word. His lips crack into a warmer expression then, "COO was meant for you."

Her chest rises and she can feel her cheeks starting to burn, biting her tongue in an attempt to prevent her eyes watering. And just as she thinks that's his apology, one she gladly appreciates, he actually does one better.

"I'm sorry, Donna." He looks her right in the eye. So intensely that there might as well be nobody else in the building, or the entire world for that matter. "What I said to you was way out of line. And it's not what I think _at all_. I know you fought for your promotion. And the only reason you got it, is because you deserved it." He pauses briefly. " _You earned it_."

Her tongue teases her top-left molars, arching her brow at him over his blatantly obvious choice of words. "My delivery was better."

"It was," he chuckles. "The entire lobby would agree on that."

Her impressive composure begins to waver and she shakes her head, laughing as she bows her head before she looks back up, left hand pinning the hair behind her ear, eyes softer now. "Thank you, Harvey."

The moment captures them for for a few too many seconds, soft jazz emanating from hidden speakers, setting the perfect atmosphere.

"And..." He drags out the word, something close to a smirk forming. "I'm also sorry for the next stupid thing I say out of anger, that isn't in any way close to what I actually know to be true."

"That's not how apologies work..."

"How would you know, you never apologise?" he teases, nostrils flared.

"No," she giggles as the left corner of her mouth bends into a badly tampered down grin while she searches for an explanation, "I never apologise for _who I am._ There's a difference."

He notices her fingers fumbling with the stem of her wine glass out of the corner of his eye. But he's mostly caught up in her laughter. Bittersweet, because he knows he doesn't hear it enough these days.

"I really have missed this, Harvey."

So has he. Probably more than he'll ever admit to her. Out of fear that she'll think he wants her back at her old job, running his life from a corner cubicle that was never enough to confine the mighty Donna Paulsen anyway.

"So...we should do it more often then?" he chances, chest puffed as he inhales with anticipation.

His question leaves her feeling anxious yet again. Or more so, the suggestive intonation he said it with.

Suddenly, she needs to challenge him. Inwardly angered, and not entirely sure why. ' _That doesn't mean I want more_ ' bellowing inside her brain. A clustered pattern of contradictions almost giving her a migraine as she tries to work out what the hell it all means.

He watches the warmth leave her eyes before her mouth opens, "Should we?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do _you_ mean, Harvey? We should date more often, is that it?" she chuckles dryly in defeat, adrenaline beginning to pump its way through her veins, telling her it's okay to confront the issue.

"Donna, we can have a friendly meal without-"

She leans forward and inch, the action cutting him short, heightened brows almost pleading with him, her voice light, "This hasn't felt strictly friendly though, has it?"

She's scared shitless that she's wrong. That she's just broached _that_ topic for no reason.

But then he speaks.

"No," he sighs discretely, soon looking like the weight of the world - their world - was squashing him, causing his shoulders to slump. "It hasn't."

He doesn't make a move to bring up his feelings in the agonising seconds that follow. And she's not about to make the same mistake twice.

"What are you doing?" he frowns, watching her gather her purse.

"We've eaten, I'm going home."

The more amicable she tries to sound, painting on a weak facade of a smile, the more he knows she's not okay. And neither are they.

"Before we have the chance to actually discuss anything, right?"

She freezes in her seat, almost statuesque as she coldly glares at him in disbelief. Seeing as he was just shutting down on her two seconds ago. And every other time they dared toe the line.

Her mood takes a turn for the worse as she spits venom with her tone alone, "You're one to talk."

"Come on, Donna, I don't wanna fight." He pulls his head back, palms flashing the ceiling, desperate to put the lid back on the can before too many worms wriggle out. "I thought we could order another round of drinks before we leave?"

"Well I don't really feel like yet another night of tipsy, half-confessions, Harvey. So I'm going home."

She can't even manage a faux smile as she stands to leave. A vast range of emotions stirring up a sweltering storm inside at the most inconvenient moment, catching her by surprise. Exactly what happens when feelings are neglected for years on end.

But she doesn't want him to see her like this. If he doesn't feel anything _more_ , then she doesn't want him picking up on her more. The more that has nothing to do with a job promotion.

"Donna," he pleads, eyes following her as she almost passes, fingers delicately pressing her wrist.

She stops for a second, looking down at him, knowing they'll have to see each other on Monday so she best say goodbye properly. Better chance of stuffing it all underneath their now bulging carpet that way.

"Good night, Harvey. Thanks for dinner."

He drops his hand and grates his jaw, shaking his head, becoming mad at her and letting her walk away.

Until he realises that he should be more mad at himself, and be running after her.

Without letting himself stew on it, and sulk until he convinces himself he has nothing to chase after her for, he throws down his napkin, along with a few hundred dollars from his wallet, and does exactly that.

Having made it onto the darkened street on autopilot, she stops outside the entrance. Inhaling the fresh air, eyes shut as she bows her head back, fingernails denting the flesh of her palms as they dig in to distract her from her inner turmoil, to tamper her rage.

She exhales after a brief moment, watching her breath dissipate into the nighttime air.

Once she feels more stable, she begins walking again, her still trembling fingers attempting to button up her coat as she seeks a taxi. _Typical_. New York fucking City and _now_ is the time it decides not to have a cab conveniently driving by.

A second later, she hears the doors slam shut some ten feet behind her and picks up speed, heels clicking against the pavement.

"Donna!"

He sounds concerned, but also more intent on having it out with her than he did moments ago. Or than he ever has in his life.

"Harvey, I'm tired okay. I can't do this now," she calls back, hair bouncing over her shoulders as she strides with trepidation, knowing it wouldn't be that easy to stop him in his tracks now that he was literally chasing after her.

He stalks behind her with purpose, hoping his demanding tone would have her stop to face him, "Do what exactly? 'Cause I thought we were having the perfect night until you went all cold on me all of a sudden."

But she doesn't turn, making a beeline for a cab now pulling in at the end of the street, "Yeah, well, now you know how it feels."

She forces her eyes shut for a moment, knowing that was possibly too harsh. But it's as though she can't help it. Every moment since _love me how_ was bubbling up inside. Esther. Paula. Scottie's recent return. The fact that he refuses to make a move, but keeps her in convenient limbo with dinner dates and lingering looks and sensual smiles. Holding her on a shelf, never to be touched, just admired. But only by him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He doesn't even give time for a response, knowing full well what her answer might be, "Have I done something to hurt you lately?"

Her teeth grate together and she spins around to spit back, eyes glazed over with tears of frustration, "What's your definition of _lately?_ "

"Uhh, let me see..." he muses sarcastically, looking up as he pretends to think before staring at her again. "How about since we got back on track last?"

"Ohh, of course! Just after I had to resign before you forced me out, right?"

"That's not fair, Donna. I was never gonna fire you and you know it."

Her agitation is accelerating his own level of anger. He hates discussing it, racked with shame and guilt every time he thinks of it. He thought they had sorted through this. She agreed to come back. He chose _her_. Knocked on _her_ door. Isn't that enough to prove to her how wrong he was?

"No," she scoffs, eyes turning to slits. "You were just gonna hope I left willingly!"

She's still baffled at how he went from having panic attacks without having her outside his office, to trying to find her a new job in a completely different building. Hating the fact that she's allowing herself to feel hurt over it, when she should be glad he seems to have fixed his dependency issues. Not really knowing the half of it.

"I wasn't in my right mind then, okay!?" he blurts, almost choking on his culpability. "I thought I was losing someone who meant the most to me, and it wasn't until I saw your letter, and it was actually real, you were gone... that I realised I already had."

His latest reveal leaves her speechless, pupils raking over his stressed features made even more prominent by the streetlamp overhead.

" _You,_ " he finishes, taking her silence as cue to step forward and close the last gap between them. "And I wasn't gonna rest until I got you back."

Street noise fills the air as he observes her, withdrawing from the anger she held within, beginning to crumble under the impact of her recent realisations. Or perhaps, re-realiations. _She's in love with him._ Undoubtedly. And they can't keep going on like this. But the next move isn't hers to make. He made her promise nothing like that would ever happen again. And she's not about to let him make a liar out of her. Again.

"Donna," he breathes softly, closing in another inch as he tilts his head with an uneasy smile. "What's going on in that head of yours? I'm worried about you."

The current of concern in his irritatingly tender tone is almost enough to swallow her whole. Have her admit everything.

She opens her mouth, but the truth dies once the sharp air hits her tongue. She's fed up always having to make things easier for him. If he can't figure it out on his own by now, she isn't going to help him. Her stubborn spirit only making things harder for her in the long run too. But she's been scorched too many times by the same flame. Invisible scars left behind after variant Harvey-degree burns singed her heart and mind. She can no longer be drawn to the same blaze, like some sort of insane moth, never learning its lesson.

Maybe things will still be salvageable if she begins to retreat now. "I'm sorry, Harvey. I've just let everything build up lately, and I'm taking it out on you."

"What do you mean _everything_?" he murmurs, lids lowering as he concentrates on her, and only her.

" _Us."_ He fails to respond quick enough, so she tries to downplay her distressed admission. "I guess it's all just starting to hit me now. All that happened in the last few months..."

"The kiss?"

Hearing him mention it after all this time feels almost too cathartic. "Among other things," she scoffs, looking off to her right, thinking about the aftermath more so than the actual math.

He's not entirely sure what said other things are - for her at least. The kiss being about the only thing on his mind since it happened. No matter how much he tried to erase the memory. He still felt her lips, her hands. Shared her breath. Heard her soft apology. On loop. Every morning he woke up and every night he went to sleep. Shamefully recalling the moment the same way he would remember their shared strawberries and whipped cream when the need called for it.

There's a calmness about them now that she's stopped running and he has no need to chase. He's not sure how to respond. Her lips are tinged with a hue of lilac, seconds from shivering.

"You look cold."

His hands are on her body next, lightly closing the lapels of her coat one over the other, holding the material tight together before his eyes are glued to her lips, agape, glossed, and just asking to be kissed.

Panic sets in again. Because he's not saying or doing anything to back up the looks he's giving her, but the looks he's giving her are the opposite of the looks friends should give each other. Last she checked, he wasn't blind, so she's certain he's picked up on her mirroring expression too. Lust isn't that hard to distinguish. Yet, he remains an unbearably respectable foot away from her face.

Maybe it's love that he fails to detect. Or is just afraid to look for. In case it's not there.

"I can't keep doing this, Harv..." she whispers, so faintly that she hardly hears it herself, unable to even finish his name.

Her hands rest over his, before gently pushing them off her abdomen. She knots the fabric belt around her waist and presses her mouth together. Tingling with the phantom of his lips, teeth, tongue, as her skin cries out for his contact.

She lightly shakes her head. Another moment missed. That has to mean something. She's had enough.

Her lips say goodnight, but her eyes say goodbye.

Everything he wants to blurt out hangs in his trachea. Larynx utterly useless as he chokes on the promise of speech. His feet planted firmly on the concrete, as if super-glued, immovable.

"Donna, please... Don't..." _Leave._

His voice is so hoarse, he's not sure if he's actually speaking aloud, or just hearing the cries in his head.

A wave of nausea threatens his state of well-being as he watches her walk away and get into a cab, wiping a tear from her eye, not looking back once. His own view becoming blurred as he feels close to blacking out. The car door slamming shut making him blink, tears soon staining his cheeks. Vision now cleared, red lights becoming smaller as she becomes more and more distant to him. _With him._ Until she vanishes completely.

 **…**

Donna's pouring herself a glass-more-than-half-full amount of wine. Even if life feels anything but full at the moment. And even though she has a thirst for something stronger. Scotch. But that's more of an office thing. A Harvey thing. An unofficial ritual of their relationship. Intimate, unbreakable habits that only make it harder to forget about what could be.

Taking in her newly redecorated home, it hits her that he hasn't even been near it since he showed up to return her resignation letter, and get her back. Another stabbing reminder that they're just not woven into each other's lives as naturally as they once were. She may have climbed the ladder at work, but she's fallen more than a few rungs in her personal life.

A sudden thundering knock presses resume on reality, and causes her to jump. Knuckles against oak, beating in a familiar, yet more abrupt pattern than ever before.

She swallows, puts her glass down and edges toward him, wishing she hadn't thrown off her heels earlier so she would still have height on her side should they go to battle.

He hears the latch, his heart sinks.

Her hair blows back as she opens the door harder than she expected to, anger ready to resurrect and morph into rage. An irritated _what are you doing here?_ oozing from her eyes instead of her mouth.

His own eyes are tainted with red, as if lightly bloodshot. He seems shaky before he forces himself to speak.

"Donna Paulsen."

"What..." she frowns in bemusement, crossing her arms and leaning against the frame for support.

"Third thing on my list. Even though you're really the first," he rambles, heart thumping out of his sleeve, where he was now wearing it, for her.

"Harvey, what are you-"

"Court," he cuts her off, voice deep.

"Baseball," He steps closer, so close it has her standing straight again, arms falling to each side as she slowly loses her armour.

He continues inching in, expelling his last words with a nervous, yet relieved breath, fingers and thumbs caressing each of her wrists, "Donna Paulsen."

Her stare begs him to elaborate, too afraid to believe what she'e hearing.

"That's my list. You were wrong." He pulls himself that little bit closer to her, a soft grin forming. "For once."

" _That's_ your list?" she utters, as if hesitant to believe such a thing.

"Well, if we're being serious, then no."

Her eyes fall to his chest. She feels more tired of this game than she ever has before. Somehow still clueless as to what he's trying to tell her.

"Like I said..." He gives her an affectionate squeeze, "You're first."

Her lashes flutter, eyes exposing more white than he's seen since he told her he loved her.

"I mean, most of the time you're the _only_ thing on the list," he informs her, feeling years of burdened thoughts and emotions lift the more he speaks. "Especially lately."

"And why is that?"

"Why do you think, Donna?"

He gives her _the_ head tilt. The one that takes her back to that night. This isn't going anywhere new, she might as well try get some beauty sleep.

"That's not good enough, Harvey. I'm sick of ambiguity."

She steps back to close the door once again, disappearing behind the blackness of 206. But she hears a slap and then feels it jam, glancing down. His fucking foot wedged in between her and her chances of peace. She gazes at the leather onyx before her vision slowly drifts upwards, met with an ebony lust, his coal eyes melting the last bit of resolve she held onto, her stubbornness fading alongside it. This is it.

"I love you."

She knows exactly what he means by it this time. It's completely different than the last time. He's not fleeing the crime scene.

But she still has to ask again. "How?"

He towers over her, palm flat on her door in a bid to keep her from shutting him out, yet never forcing his way in.

"Let me in and I'll show you exactly how."

The dominance emanating from his voice sends hot chills straight where they're needed most. Blinking frequently, breathing heavily, she lets the door swing open fully. Taking him in as he stands there absorbing her, and the last few seconds they have until everything changes between them. For better or for worse. _But fuck it._ At least they'll know. Once and for all.

One step forward and he's close enough to land both hands on either side of her neck, an almost inaudible gasp tumbling from her lips as they share one last gaze, noses grazing with a feather-light touch.

Her back meets the wall as his lips crash over hers. Fingers gliding up his torso, desperate for that first touch.

He soon darts his tongue out, parting her mouth. She moans into his invigorating embrace. His fingers reacquaint themselves with her body, gliding down expensive silk until they hit flesh again, hiking up her dress, palms running over thighs then cheeks. He bends down slightly before gently, yet ardently, slamming her back up against the wall.

Her lengthy limbs wrap around his waist and draw him as close as humanly possible given their position. Feeling his hardened groin grate against her exactly where she wants it. Needs it.

Once he sets a slow grind, she feels how slick she is already, and she reciprocates his movements, jerking against him while her lower lip gets tugged.

Both sighing and panting in sync, she breaks their kiss briefly, "Bedroom."

He follows her lascivious demand with immediate haste, pulling them back from the wall and blindly following the trail that's been etched in his brain for twelve and a half years.

He frowns into her kiss along the way, eyes peering open. "Did you," She teases his bottom lip now, numbing the flesh with practiced skill, "redecorate?"

Donna pulls her head back from him an inch, greeting him with an amused, yet bewildered, smile. One born out of pure adoration and puzzlement.

"You're seriously worried about that? _Now?_ "

"Not one bit," he reassures her, breath hot and heavy as he meets her for another kiss, digits denting her ass while he holds her up still. She feels his grin against her own smirk as he greets her, open-mouthed.

He soon has her back up against her bedroom door, having lost his suit jacket somewhere along the way with the aid of her eager self.

His hand waves about in search of the handle as she distracts him with her wickedly angelic tongue. Not enough to have him forget their destination though, as he presses down on metal and the door swings open. A weak creak signalling their next step. The point of no return. Yet neither care to delay such pressing matters with such pointless doubts right now as he kicks off his shoes and they land on top of her pillows and linen with a heavy thud, a mangled mess of titillated giggles and groans.

"And yes," she mumbles whilst their lips dance. "I did."

His mouth parts from her briefly, her eyes sparkling in the dim light as they point out the hall towards her living room.

"Like what you see?" she toys, a clear double meaning to her words.

He only has eyes for her, interior design the last thing on his mind right now. "Love," he whispers deeply, leaning in to ravish her.

Hurried fingers run down each of his buttons at an impressively attentive speed, exposing more chest with each pop. She enjoys the view awhile before swiping the material off his shoulders, watching him wriggle out of each sleeve in seconds before he's pressed on top of her again, hovering with consideration of his weight.

Then hungry lips meet freckled shoulders as helping teeth free them from their straps.

"Your room looks pretty much the same?" he pants, both grinding against each other as they each work in tandem to undress the other.

Her hands continue south, onto their next task. "I didn't wanna overdo it in here." She clutches his crotch in her palm with a devilish satisfaction as he grunts above her. Before she uses her dominatrix grasp to yield her power and flip them over, ogling him from on top now as she adjusts to a straddling position, auburn manes falling at either side of her face as she bends down to his. "Too many great memories."

She watches him lick his lips after she kisses him, before correcting her, " _Delicious_ memories."

"True, you make a fine dessert," she purrs as his hands reach up to pin the cascading hair behind her ears. "But I want you all to myself tonight."

"Oh I'm not sharing you with anything," he asserts, with such desirable possessiveness that she feels her lower abdomen knot tenfold. "Or _anyone_."

"I told you."

She straightens back up on top of him, arms crossed as each hand grips the hem of her dress, slowly, teasingly, alluringly, unwrapping her toned, ivory body as she pulls the fabric over her torso, chest, then head, tossing it aside without any consideration for the price tag it was once attached to.

He swallows thickly, mind and eyes, and mind's eye, almost completely lost between her breasts. Chest and arms covered with constellations of sun-kissed flecks of gold.

"Told me what?"

He watches her scoot down beyond his groin, never looking away as she unzips him. He arches his ass upwards, letting her free him from his suit pants before she peels the rest off his limbs.

"That if you we ever lucky enough to have me..." She eyes his unmissable bulge, stretching his boxers, just pleading to be freed. With an infectious smirk, she meets his eye with the same sultry whisper as her younger self, "You wouldn't wanna share."

He propels himself forward in a flash, sitting up and pulling her back on top of him, chests colliding with an excelled need.

She's soon sans bra, and he's exciting one nipple with teeth and tongue, and the other with the touch of his thumb.

"Harv-" she whimpers, sliding her clothed, wet centre back and forth over his own. His tip on display as it peers out of his waistband, his length now standing to full attention.

Without denying her of what she wants for much longer, he slips two fingers down her thong, immediately met with warm, swollen flesh, dripping for him.

He sets a steady rhythm, back and forth. She spreads her legs even further and he knows she's ready. A sharp gasp escapes her once his digits find their way inside. Slow at first, curling against her, a simmering inferno building with each motion, thumb pressing against her nerves in stimulating synchronisation with his fingers.

It's not long until she's flushed, eyes closed, mouth open, breasts bouncing as she thrusts against his skillful hand. He seizes his opportunity to catch her off guard and flips them back over, removing his digits now that she was more than ready.

Almost blinded by euphoria, she hazily spies him as he discards his last item of clothing, giving her an unguarded view of his length. A visual representation of his more. His how.

He descends himself on top of her yet again, head teasing clit. He kisses her without any chaste.

"Just in case it wasn't clear already," he smiles lightly, a sudden seriousness in his eyes, "I'm _in_ love with you, Donna."

Just as she thought she couldn't possibly be anymore aroused, he had to go and say something so undeniably true to her now, that it made every single one of her lies in recent months - if not years - make absolutely no sense to her, no matter how much she used to try to justify them.

He didn't deserve to be lied to.

"I'm sorry I said I didn't feel anything when I kissed you."

He knows by now that she wasn't being truthful with him in the lobby that night. Neither need to state as much.

"It's okay. I shouldn't have said I didn't want more."

They let themselves engage in apologetic gazes a moment before she inhales and quirks a brow, "Okay, what are we waiting for?"

Her legs tighten around him, shifting herself under him, hand finding his shaft for one or two torturous strokes.

He groans with an overflow of pleasure, "For me to figure out that it's time to _come_ inside?"

She can't help but chuckle at his reference. Taken straight from their lives instead of a movie, for once. She's about to roll her eyes too when he cuts her off with a bruising kiss. Lashes flashing above her then as she feels him enter, inhaling with the welcome intrusion. His full length and width buried between her legs. Not so hard after all - figuratively at least.

The past few weeks being filled with anger, hurt, resentment and spite, influence their progression as they let it all slip away with an ever increasing pace, thrusting away every last ounce of fear. Remembering how natural it feels to have sex with someone, when that someone is the person you're destined to be with. The thought of forever remaining just friends seeming more absurd the closer they get to climaxing.

There was no doubt that this would be the shortest round of the night. Years of abiding by her colleague-chastity rule sealed that fate long ago. A decade long deprivation gearing them up for the fastest and most worthwhile release either have ever had.

With the wandering of his thumb over her clit, she's soon shouting out his name with a firm grip under each broad shoulder blade. Mouth panting over his ear, heating his flesh with her exhilaration.

He pulls his head back to watch her come. Hooded eyes and high-pitched cries having him follow suit in no time at all. Mindfully collapsing on top of her once he's emptied and spent. Both dotted with sweat and skin flushed with colour.

The room fills with heavy, sporadic breathing. His eyes fall shut, cheek against chest as he buries his head in the crook of her neck, the sensation of her nails lazily combing through his strands tempting him to fall asleep in her embrace.

But he wants her to fall asleep in his.

She feels him push himself upwards, skin cold without him. He gently slips out, eyes darting to a box of tissues on her beside table. He cleans her up, gazing at her the entire time. She jerks at the contact, nerves still highly sensitive, before he tosses it in a small trash can to his left.

He kisses her as he envelopes her in his arms, muscles flexing as he tightens the hold. Her leg swings over his hip and lays there as she squashes into him, aching in all the right places, fingers tiptoeing up his chest.

"That was..." She's truly struggling to find words that will do it justice. What they've just done, and are doing right now, hitting her full force.

His right arm plays with a frizzed lock of her amber hair as she lays over the bicep of that arm.

"Worth the wait?" he chances with a youthful charm in his grin.

"Without a doubt."

She means every word and he knows it. But her eyes hold something resembling uncertainty now, so he pulls her close, eager to let her know exactly where he stands.

"I may not be completely fixed, Donna." Her thumb strokes his jawline as he speaks, "And I'm sure there'll be plenty of hurdles along the way. But I'm ready to try anyway."

"So am I." She edges in for a post-coital kiss, lips smacking and popping as she mumbles, "Oh and Harvey?"

"Hmm?" He deepens the kiss, left hand on her hip as he sits up to tower over her again.

"In case it wasn't obvious..." she mimics him smugly, blinking up at him as a sweet whisper grazes his lips, "I'm in love with you too."

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **FIN.**


End file.
